


the fate you've carved

by havisham



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Multi, Randy Elves doing whatever, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I obey your law of gravity</i> /<br/><i>This is the fate you've carved on me</i></p><p> <br/>In the dark of Moria, some secrets are uncovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fate you've carved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toujours_nigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/gifts).



> For the prompt in the trope meme on my [DW](http://moetushie.dreamwidth.org/384927.html): Aragorn/Boromir genderswap. 
> 
> Thanks to Elleth for taking a look at it, and suggesting an alternate to Aragorn's name!

“At first I thought it some Elvish trick,” Boromir muttered, casting a long glance over to Aranel, who was pushing steadily against the fast-falling wall of snow. She said nothing, and Boromir cleared his throat. They were making progress quite slowly, but even at that, the hobbits had been left behind. 

“You are surprised that I am a woman,” Aranel said at last, glancing backward and seeing, in the distance, Legolas waving to her, his feet resting lightly on the snow. She, weighted down and exhausted, drew out a long sigh and realized that Boromir still looked to her. She pulled a wry face. “But I tell you that either I am Isildur’s heir or I am nothing. Our journey will have to tell which it is.” 

It was not as if her parents had not had much of a choice -- she had been a babe in arms when her father had been killed in a raid, and her mother, still so young and grief-stricken, brought her to the house of Elrond. And in that comfortable nest, young Estel (as she had been quickly dubbed) had never considered herself lacking. All loved her and she seemed true to her name. She grown fast and happy, and then in her nineteenth year, her past had been revealed to her, and she had lost her heart to Elrond’s daughter… 

All that, Boromir could not know. He was still looking her. They had stopped entirely, through the snow around them hardly came to their ankles. Behind, Aranel could hear the chatter of hungry hobbits, and she grinned. She would soon have to turn back and relieve Gandalf of his duty of overseeing the halflings.

“I suppose…” Boromir looked thoughtful. “Númenor was said to have a Ruling Queen.” 

“In truth, they had three,” Aranel said, “Tar-Ancalimë, Tar-Telperiën, and Tar-Vanimeldë. Tar-Míriel should have been the fourth, but she was usurped by her husband.” 

“Forgive my ignorance, it’s my brother who is the loremaster, not I,” said Boromir, with a queer look on his face. Aranel wondered at it, briefly, before the rest of the company came to her, and she thought no more about it -- then. 

*

But later -- as the darkness of Moria pressed against them like an open palm, Aranel sat up in her bedroll, though it was not yet time for her watch. Boromir, whose watch it was, was nowhere in sight. Instantly, Aranel was on her feet, about to rouse the others, when she heard footsteps coming towards them and saw Boromir, red-faced and a little breathless, coming around the bend. They nodded to each other, in passing, and Aranel volunteered to take the watch. Boromir accepted, with a gruff thanks. 

Aranel spent the rest of her watch contemplating many things, not the least of which was Boromir’s secret, whatever it may have been. The air around her was cold and carried with it more than a breath of moisture, as damp as a mouth of a grave. 

Aranel wrapped her cloak more tightly around her and then noticed, with a slight start, that Boromir was still awake, and looking at her. 

“Sleep,” Aranel said quietly. “You may not have another chance to do so -- until we leave this place.” 

“I wonder,” Boromir said, sitting up. “How can you go about, like you are.” 

“Like how?” Aranel said, her hand dropping lightly to her scabbard. 

Boromir shook his head, his face bitter and closed. 

Lightly, but meaning it, Aranel said, “If you wish to fight me, Boromir, you must be clear. Otherwise, I will go to sleep myself and you will have to take it out on whatever comes our way tomorrow.” 

Boromir seemed to consider this, and stood. He bowed to her, as graceful as any courtier. (Which, of course, he was -- as well as anything else.) “If you wish.” 

“I do,” Aranel said, springing up. She knew that Arwen would laugh at her for this eagerness to prove herself, see that as another example of how young Aranel still was. She thought of Arwen, and there was a fire in her veins. It had been so long. 

They went some distance from the sleeping hobbits (and though Gandalf did a convincing job of it, Aranel knew perfectly well that the wizard was awake, and so, for what it was was worth, was Legolas.) They ducked out of sight, and Boromir tried to push her against the wall. 

But Aranel -- would not -- let herself be pushed. They grappled with each other until a strange, still moment came upon them. Then Boromir leaned in and kissed her fiercely, and then pulled away to look at her. 

“Oh damn,” Aranel muttered, and kissed him back. For the first time, the dark was an advantage. She began to quickly undo some of her buckles. She glanced up and saw that Boromir was staring at her, mouth slightly agape. “You too,” she said, quickly slipping her hand underneath Boromir’s armor, under his shirt. Boromir’s skin was hot to the touch and he pushed Aranel against the wall and buried his head in the crook of her neck. 

Aranel’s hand strayed against a bandage, wrapped tightly against Boromir’s chest. Her hand fell swiftly to her side and Boromir lifted his head and smiled, grimly. 

After several heartbeats, Aranel asked, tentatively, if Boromir would tell her the truth. Boromir leaned heavily against the wall and sighed. 

“There is nothing to say. My father required that his firstborn was a son, and so I was. And --” he looked at her, defiantly, “I was -- I am -- an excellent son. My father can find no fault in me, though he is by no means a kindly judge of such things.” 

“That I know,” Aranel muttered, earning her a questioning look from Boromir. As a means of distraction, Aranel straightened and smiled. “Well, there is no reason to waste a good opportunity.” 

She slid down to her knees and looked up to Boromir expectantly. Boromir looked down at her, uncertainty and lust warring on his face.

“Come, let’s see your cock,” Aranel murmured. “Is it big?” 

Boromir unbuckled his belt and pulled down his hose. He huffed under his breath -- “I cannot believe you were raised by Elves…” 

“You have not met very many Elves, obviously,” Aranel said, with good cheer. And then, her mouth was occupied with something other than speaking. 

*

There was a definite swagger in Aranel’s step, when she walked back to the where the rest of the fellowship had begun to wake from their rest. Boromir, behind her, only grunted at Legolas’ light sally about having to wait for their return. 

“I see what you mean about Elves,” Boromir muttered to Aranel as they packed up their things. Aranel laughed softly.

They walked further into the dark with higher hearts than before.


End file.
